Harry Potter and The Friday the 13th Crossover
by DethShrike13
Summary: Who would have thought that a school for horny adolescents located in the middle of nowhere would attract Jason Voorhees?


1

Draco wrapped the trip wire around the trunk of one of the first of two very large oaks planted about five yards from each other. He and his two bumbling, slack-jawed cohorts, Fat-Tits McGee and Blobbo Backboobs had spent nearly twenty whole minutes conceiving this, their most diabolical scheme to finally _get _Harry Potter.

"Excellent work, gents." Draco whispered with a smile, not wanting to wake the living tree whose daily meal of squirrels and retarded children he had laced with roofies. "Soon, Harry and his two sidekicks will wander out to this particular section of Hogwarts' lawn for some reason, and then I'll finally _get_ him!"

"Exactly why do you want to _get_ Harry, sir?" Fat-Tits dared to ask. He did this knowing well that Draco would undoubtedly hit him for it, because Draco was a douche.

"Shut up, that's why. Now into the trees with you, you muffin-topped wankers!" Draco gave them both a flouncy Frenchman's wave before darting off into the woods behind Hogwarts to hide or something. With a mutual shrug of 'oh-what-the-fuck-'ness, Fat-Tits and his lover Blobbo traipsed like stoned penguins over to their own hiding spots, where they would await the arrival of their soon-to-be victim, Harry Potter.

The plan was simple, and by simple, I mean needlessly complicated. Harry would activate the trip wire by, duh, tripping over it. This would cause a very large net to fall on him. Of course, no one, wizard or otherwise, can escape the grasp of a large net. And, of all things to be made of, this one was made of nylon, the world's most nefarious fabric. Trapped underneath this web of mighty nylon, Harry and his two friends would be completely at the whim of Draco and his obese henchmen, who would pants Harry and take a picture of his notorious baby penis.

"Excuse me, Fat-Tits," Blobbo began to whisper delicately into his fellow goon's soft, porcelain-esque earflap, "but I have to give birth to a Cosby kid." Blobbo stood up and went off into the woods before looking back over his shoulder at Fat-Tits.

"You comin'?" Blobbo called out loudly. He was immediately shushed by Fat-Tits and Draco, the latter flapping his arms around like an epileptic ragdoll. Blobbo took it as a 'No', and walked onward.

Minutes passed, and Harry had yet to show (they didn't know it, but he was smoking pot and playing Dungeons & Dragons with Hermione, Ron, and a small handful of Ron's twenty-nine siblings). To Fat-Tits, it seemed like maybe this wasn't such a good idea at all. In fact, a much better idea would be to walk into the woods and see if Blobbo needed help pooping.

"Sir," Fat-Tits whispered into the shadows, before Draco appeared, doing that epileptic ragdoll thing again. It meant 'shut the hell up'. Fat-Tits took the hint and went after Blobbo alone.

After a few minutes of fumbling in the dark and wondering why the fuck flashlights weren't allowed in a school surrounded by dark and treacherous woods, Fat-Tits remembered that he was magic, and soon set the tip of his wand on fire with a wizardly invention called a Bic. They were disposable.

Holding his lit wand a few feet from his face, Fat-Tits found the 'Brown Trail' that had often been whispered of amongst his fellow students, but never acknowledged. It was where everybody went to the bathroom when they were in the woods. It was also where Hagrid found fertilizer for his pot plants, most of which had been stolen by Harry the night before. Fat-Tits looked behind him to make sure no one was watching, before he began waddling down the trail towards the stank-errific pit of dook.

"Blobbo?" Fat-Tits began whispering when the air grew acrid and the ground grew yielding and pudding-like. "Blobbo, where are you?"

No one answered, save a crow, whose caw echoed into the night like the screams of a Duke coed being left in the charge of a lacrosse player. Fat-Tits decided it would be best to return to the trap set for Harry, and that's when he saw it.

Turning, he saw a shadow dangling from a tree, one of it's limbs every now and again twitching. Holding the wand up to its face, he saw it was his love, Blobbo, hanged by a length of rope, no doubt stolen from Hagrid's shed like so much finely grown cannabis.

"Oh, fudge me in the cornhole!" Blobbo screamed like a Monica. He dropped his wand, brushed past the legs of his dead BF and made a mad dash for Draco's trap.

His jowls bounced, his inner thighs scraped, his face grew as red as a Catholic schoolboy's buttocks after a paddling by the overly-eager headmaster, as Blobbo raced towards the only salvation he knew. And yet, as he heard the boots of Death stomping behind him, he knew he would die a meaningless death very soon, because he was a completely ancillary character.

"Draco!" He managed to scream out, just before he felt something very hot enter into his back. Suddenly, he couldn't feel anything, except the biting knowledge that probably no one would show up at his funeral.

Hearing his name being called, Draco stepped out of the shadows, dancing like an epileptic ragdoll.

"Don't you guys know what this means?" He screamed like a rich wuss. "This means you shut up, remember?"

Up ahead, along the legendary 'Brown Trail', Draco could just make out what looked like a hefty bag full of porkchops. Squinting, he realized it was either Blobbo or Fat-Tits (really, can anyone tell the difference?). But something was different…

There was a machete sticking out of his back.

Appearing over the body of the fallen fat kid was a man, very large, possibly related to Hagrid. But instead of being a hairy fat-wad, this man was muscular, and dressed in what could loosely be called 'murderer chic'; soiled brown and black rags, streaked maroon with old blood stains. Covering his face was a dirty hockey mask.

This man slowly pulled the machete out of the fat kid's corpse like a murderer pulling a big knife out of an unusually chubby victim. He then cocked his head upward, eyes glaring at Draco from beneath the mask.

Draco thought he should run, but could only piss himself, as the man slowly walked up to him and drew the machete high over his head.

"Oh, I've wasted my life." Draco whispered, just as the machete plowed through his blonde bowl cut and into his puny skull.

2

Harry stood beside his two friends, Hermione and Ron, who were just as hung-over as he was from the Dungeons & Dragons party the night before. They were gathered on the front lawn of Hogwarts for a special announcement from Dumbledore.

Harry felt like an adolescent wizard-shaped pile of puke as Dumbledore's wheelchair was pushed up the ramp towards the podium. Usually Dumbledore only made a special announcement when Voldemort was, I don't know, lurking or whatever. But something in Harry's Jäger-besotted cranium told him that the succeeding events would not be canon, and therefore, anything would be possible.

Dumbledore's two twelve-year-old love slaves held him up by his shoulders, one holding the magic microphone to his lips so that he may speak. With this, everyone in the audience tensed, except Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were all drunk.

"Young wizards of Hogwarts, I have a very special announcement to make," Dumbledore cleared his throat quickly, coughing old-man goo into one gnarled and liver-spotted paw before continuing. "Starting with the first day of gymnastics practice, the girls' shower rooms will be moved from the women's locker room and into my inner office. I will, however, need a team of young boys to assist me in the moving of this delicate equipment, boys not afraid to get all hot and sweaty and have to take their shirts and pants off."

The crowd was silent. Somewhere, a cricket did it's cricket thing, until Dumbledore killed it with the wink of one mystical eye.

"No? Oh well. In other news, Draco and his two fat buddies were killed last night by what I am guessing is a very pissed-off Hippogriff. All students, especially the freshmen boys and members of the female gymnastics team are asked to stay indoors whenever possible. Those who need to stick their nose where it doesn't belong should see me in the girl's shower room, AKA my office."

As the two tweenage (yes, I said it) love slaves carted Dumbledore off into the sunset like a dead man in a Monty Python movie, Hermione began flapping her gums at the irritated and hung-over duo of Harry and Ron.

"Guys, I think we've got a mystery on our hands!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Who do you take me for, Scooby-fucking-Doo? I'm Harry fucking Potter, bitch, and I say if someone wants to kill Draco, let 'em." Harry snapped, trying to think of a spell that could turn his fingers into those little bottles of vodka that they sell at airports.

"Harry, don't treat my future wife like that or I won't let you have premarital sex with my eleven-year-old sister!" Ron whipped back at Harry, who could only answer with a 'D'Oh!' like sound.

Meanwhile, Ron's two older brothers, Carrot-Top and Shaun White were making plans for the big panty raid on Gryffindor.

"We enter in through the east wing, dressed as clowns to gain the girls' trust, then, we steal their underpants. Got it?" Carrot-Top asked his younger brother, as they both examined that special map-thing from the second one.

"Isn't that where our sister sleeps?" Shaun White asked just before his brother flicked his nose like Moe would Curly.

"You knucklehead, girls is girls. Besides mom can just make her more underwear out of the squirrels that Dad hunts for a living." Carrot-Top reminded his brother.

"Man, we sure are poor."

"That's the life of an Irish-Catholic-Mexican Wizard family!"

Later that night, Carrot-Top was climbing up to the window just outside the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, with Shaun White holding the ladder steady beneath him.

"Hey, what do you think of Draco and his friends being killed out in the woods?" Shaun White asked his brother from below.

"I think if you don't shut up we won't have anything to sniff while we tame our dragons, now hold that ladder." Carrot-Top snapped. Shaun White flipped Carrot-Top off, only to realize that no one could see him, rendering his act meaningless and foolish. So he decided to show his brother he hated him by abandoning the ladder and letting Carrot-Top climb the four stories without any support.

Wandering off behind one kudzu-coated wall to spark up a jay, Shaun White could just make out the sounds of someone following him.

"Hello?" He managed to ask, just before a man wearing a hockey mask gored his throat with a screwdriver. Twisting it with one gloved hand, the man looked his victim in the eye, staring down into the fiery belly of his flame-haired prey, and watched those fires of life die. When the eyes had rolled back into their sockets, the man yanked the screwdriver out of Shaun White's throat and tossed his body onto the grass.

"Shaun White, was that you?" Carrot-Top asked, hearing something being tossed onto something else. He looked down and saw a shape much larger than that of his brother.

"Hagrid, it's you! Listen, I'm trying to break in and steal some underwear. I'll split the take if you give me a boost." Beneath him, Hagrid nodded, lifting the ladder up an extra foot or so.

"Good on ya, Hagrid! Just a few inches more!" Carrot-Top could just make out the ledge beneath the window into the girls' dorm. "You can do it!"

Suddenly, the ladder jerked backward, and Carrot-Top began to lose his balance. Beneath him, through the bars of the ladder, Carrot-Top could see that it was not Hagrid at all, but a rather large man wearing a hockey mask. He could also see the hard Earth approaching him very quickly. Carrot-Top knew there was only one thing left to say:

"I accept Jesus Christ as my personal lord and savior!" He screamed just before every bone in his body snapped on the grassy hill outside of Gryffindor. "Made it…" he whispered as he died.

3

In the girls' shower, AKA Dumbledore's office, Hermione spat word after word of litigation and heresy, all pointing to a murderer being loosed upon the children of Hogwarts. But alas, these words, most of which were stolen from Denzel Washington's character in _Philadelphia_, went unheeded, as her two compatriots, Harry and Ron were playing dice in the corner, and Dumbledore was busy looking himself up on the Harry Potter Wiki to see in which book he would finally die.

"Aren't you listening?' Hermione bitched.

"Hell no." Dumbledore answered. "There is no killer on the loose at Hogwarts, and what's more I'm starting to think you're not a ten-year-old boy at all!"

"Then how do you explain Draco and his friends? Do you honestly think a Hippogriff hanged one and stabbed the other two to death with a machete?" Hermione grilled that old bastard as though her name was George Foreman.

"No, but that's what I'm going to tell people. Do you know what would happen if the world knew about a murderer being loosed upon Hogwarts? The wizard press would eat me alive." Dumbledore moved the little stick attached to his wheelchair with his beard, rolling out from behind his desk to get a better look at Hermione. Nope, he thought, definitely not a ten-year-old boy.

"But just this morning Arguss found Ron's two brothers dead in a field." Hermione whined.

"My brothers are dead?" Ron asked, just as Harry rolled a snake eyes. Harry took this time to redo that roll.

"Look you old battleaxe," Dumbledore wheezed at Hermione, "when Dumbledore says there's no murderer, then there's no murderer. Now if you'll excuse me, the girl's gymnastics team just finished practice, so unless you'd like to stay for a shower, smell you later."

"Smell you later alright," Hermione huffed, grabbing her two droogs by the scruffs of their necks. "Smell you later forever!"

In the library, Hermione plowed through ancient scroll after ancient scroll, looking for one that could help. But after a few hours, she gave up. No one in the wizarding world had written an episode guide to _Wings_. Getting back to the mission at hand, she began looking up spells in her Defense Against The Dark Arts tome. Beside her, Harry and Ron played dominos.

"I have reason to believe this is the work of our old villain, Professor Snape!" Hermione shouted before being shushed by the librarian, who just happened to be a ghost.

"Is he still a villain?" Harry asked, just as Arguss, the crazy old hermit who talks to cats walked in.

"I know who's killing off the kids here at Hogwarts. His name's Jason Voorhees, and he cannot be stopped by magic." Arguss hissed, his cat/wife curled up in his arms.

"What if I used a patronus?" Harry asked.

"Well, I guess that could work, but beware… Jason is not magic, nor mortal, but something much worse… a villain in a poorly written fan fiction." With those strange words, Arguss slithered away, off to see a doctor about this thing that keeps dripping out of his thing.

"Who was that person?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, but look at this." Hermione unfolded a scroll, revealing the shadowy figure of an enormous, mountain-like man wearing a hockey mask. "According to , Jason Voorhees was a retarded muggle who drowned at Camp Crystal lake, only to be revived by a lust for vengeance after the death of his mother at the hands of the female lead in the first movie. It goes on to say that the only way to stop him is for the female lead to face him in a final showdown."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen." Harry retorted with an easygoing shrug. "You'll get killed, act surprised, and then I'll step in and save everyone. Just like always. And then with my God-like wizarding, I'll resurrect you all and mind wipe you so that you'll never remember any of this, and everything that will have happened will be completely retconned."

"Convenient and true though that maybe, I'm going to make a stand against Jason. Hogwarts belongs to the wizards, and I'm not going to be terrorized." Hermione said, standing up out of her chair, proudly.

"I am." Ron said, sliding under the table.

Later that night, as Hermione prepped her spells for her final showdown with Jason, Ron tapped on her door.

"May I come in?" He asked.

"No." Hermione answered.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, closing the door behind him.

"Wishing they allowed guns in this place, what does it look like?" Hermione tucked her wand into the folds of her wizarding robe, which meant it was time to get it on. But Ron didn't get the message, and insisted on standing around trying to score like an idiot.

"I wanted to know if you wanted to do it with me before you face off against Jason in a final showdown. You know, just to pass the time." Ron sat down on Hermione's bed, tugging at the collar of his robe. He had glued a puff of hair taken from Arguss' cat/wife to his chest, because wizard girls love a man with chest pubes.

"Ron, your name is Weasley for God's sake. Also, I'm pretty sure your family tree is a stump. Why in fuck would I marry you?" Hermione asked, cocking her head as though she were Beyonce, and Ron Jay-Z.

"Hey, I'm not asking you to marry me. Let's just do it Cerberus style, baby. I know the rhythm method." Ron pleaded.

"Fine." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You have five minutes."

"Whoa, I didn't say let's do it twice." And with that, Ron ripped off his breakaway robe, revealing a skimpy man thong and plenty of glued on faux body hair. It was time to get makin' with the love.

About a minute into Ron and Hermione's game of 'hide-the-wand-in-the-wizard's-sleeve', someone threw a pebble at Hermione's window from outside.

"Dammit, I'll get it." Hermione said, getting off of Ron, who was as useful on top as a dick-flavored lollipop.

"Oh, why?" Ron moaned like a toddler.

"Because I'm obsessive compulsive, now shut up."

Hermione walked over to the window, looking out onto the very spot in the meadows where Carrot-Top's body had been outlined in a special wizard pencil that could write on grass. The body itself was missing.

"Did we get a new day laborer?" Hermione asked the half-masted Ron.

"No, just Arguss and my extended family, as always. Why?" Ron answered, just as Carrot-Top's lifeless corpse was chucked through the window. It knocked Hermione back on her ass, and sent Ron into cowardly convulsions.

The man in the hockey mask jumped in through the window, bloody machete in a sheath attached to his belt.

"Oh shit, it's Jason!" Ron screamed, just as Hermione threw his dead brother off of her.

"Quick, my wand!" Hermione cried, reaching out to Ron. "Where'd you put it?"

"Remember when I said I wanted to try something… different?" Ron asked, turning around and showing Hermione where he'd put her wand.

"You suck so much!" Hermione shouted, turning back to face Jason, who was slowly approaching her with one hand on the hilt of his machete.

"Jason, it's me, Hermione. I'm the female lead, so you can't kill me." Hermione pleaded in an even, straightforward tone.

"Kill her, Jason! Kill the bitch and spare me!" Ron cried from the corner behind Hermione's bed.

"Ron you twat!" Hermione screamed, just as Jason impaled her on his machete. He slowly lifted her up, letting the blade slowly dig deeper into her writhing belly. She searched for energy to scream, but found none, and simply let the tears flow as blood gushed out of her gaping stomach wound and onto the carpeted floor of her room.

Tossing Hermione into a bookcase with a flick of his wrist, Jason stepped slowly across the bloody floor, around the bed, until finally he stood over Ron, who, in the midst of a crying fit, was wondering how hard it would be to cast a spell with his ass.

"So, now that you've killed my wife, I suppose you won't need to murder me, right?" Ron blubbered, hands folded in prayer to whatever unholy god wizards pray to. I mean real wizards, not those weird kids who play Magic: The Gathering in Study Hall and listen to techno.

Jason stuck the machete into the floor, as Ron slowly rose up, naked except for Hermione's comforter, which was swathed about his ever-shrinking nethers.

"Truce?" Ron smiled, just as Jason grabbed him by the throat with one hand and the balls by the other. Lifting him in the air like a piñata, Jason snapped Ron's weak, ginger body over his knee, filling the nighttime air with a sound akin to a chestnut popping over an open fire, only much more loud, and much less Christmas-y.

4

Harry was walking along through the hallowed halls of Gryffindor, when suddenly he realized that no one was following him and offering to kiss his ass for him. Rather, everyone was gathering by Hermione's room for some odd reason.

"Guys, this isn't my room," Harry began laughing as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "This is Hermione's room. In your excitement, you must have gotten confused."

"Hey, kid, you're standing in blood." A Forensic Officer said, tapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry looked behind him and saw that there were about four of them, all dressed in blue, all mopping up blood, broken glass and spinal fluid.

"Oh no!" Harry cried. "Two unimportant characters were murdered last night! I should tell Hermione and Ron!"

Later, after the crying had stopped, Harry began looking through his spell books, searching for a spell that would help him. After remembering that no one uses books anymore, he began looking on Wikipedia, where he found a detailed account of Wolverine's origin and a summary of the 'Mr. Plow' episode of the Simpsons, but no leads on how to kill Jason. Suddenly, he remembered something that that old jezebel Hermione had said…

"Guys, I think we've got a mystery on our hands!" Hermione's voice echoed inside Harry's brain.

"That's it!" He shouted out.

After watching every episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 on Hulu, Harry drank a Red Bull and went out to buy some condoms.

Out in the night air, Harry began to reminisce about certain things that had come up in the last few days. Something about a hockey player dying, he couldn't really remember.

Suddenly, Harry began to hear footsteps behind him. He turned, expecting to see either a bunch of British fangirls wearing those terrible scarves you can get at Hot Topic or that doofy kid with the camera from the second one. But alas, he saw neither.

Turning back to the road out of Hogwarts and into town, Harry saw a man in a hockey mask blocking his path. The man was covered in blood, and had a machete in one hand.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked, just as Hagrid rushed at the masked man from behind. With a loud roar, he sunk an axe into the man's back, then stepped back, eyes wide in horror.

"Oh no…" Hagrid began to whimper. "I've killed another one! Dumbledore will have me over his knee just like he did all those years ago!"

"No, Hagrid, it's okay." Harry soothed his large bearded friend with a one handed backrub. "I don't think he was anyone important. He was probably in Ravenclaw."

"No, aye…" Hagrid began to calm down. The look of womanly fear in his eye was replaced by one of lesbian cunning. "I know this bastard. He's the one what did your friends in, Harry. He's Jason Voorhees, the Crystal Lake killer. But I stopped him, I did! Got him in the back with me 'ol Equalizer!"

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked. "I wasn't paying attention."

"It's going to be okay, Harry. Jason's been stopped for good this time. No one ever comes back from an axe to the spine."

"Again, I wasn't really paying attention, I was doing this thing on my phone." Harry held up his wizard phone, which looked a lot like a regular cell phone, only with much better text messaging rates. Behind him, Jason was slowly lifting himself up.

"He's back up!" Hagrid screamed. "I can't believe it! Quick, Harry, use your magic!"

"Hagrid, please, I'm trying to update my FaceBook."

Jason stood up, reaching behind his back at the axe handle, which he pulled from his back with sickening ease.

"Oh me heathen God, Harry, he's got the axe! Use your magic!" Hagrid cried.

"FaceBook, Hagrid, FaceBook…"

Hagrid rushed at Jason, hands outstretched like those of a drunken bear who has man-hands.

"You'll not take Harry, you mask-wearin' brute! He's the Chosen One!" Hagrid cried, wrapping his thick, dirty hands around Jason's throat. Jason responded by brushing these hands away and slamming the axe into Hagrid's meaty shoulder.

"Lord have mercy! Me shoulder! He put the axe in me shoulder!" Hagrid cried, turning to Harry, who was now listening to High School Musical on his iPod.

Jason yanked Hagrid back towards him by twisting the axe handle, sending a river of pain through Hagrid's thick body. He then held Hagrid by the beard and slashed his stomach, letting blood, bile and stomach juices mix over the cobblestone path to town. Reaching into the newly-opened stomach-crevice like a kid reaching into a bag of Twizzlers, Jason grabbed Hagrid's intestines and began looping them around the fat man's neck, forming a crude noose.

"Harry!!" Hagrid screamed with all the guster he could muster.

"Hagrid, what the hell are you doing?" Harry dropped his iPod and stepped forward, before he caught himself and took that same step backwards. "Um, I can see you're in control of this, so I'll be leaving."

"Harry, he's killing me, use your magic!" Hagrid pleaded as his intestines tightened around his throat.

"Actually, I'm gonna run now, but before I do, I wanted you to know…" Harry bit his lip in preparation for a full on truth-gasm. "I stole your weed."

"You four-eyed piece of shit!" Hagrid screamed with his last breath, his bulging and bursting eyes watching as Harry ran towards town. "Come back here! This should be you!"

Leaving his old friend's screams behind him, Harry wondered what would await him in the muggle world, where he would pose as migrant worker Miguel Sanchez, a young man who had certainly never heard of Hogwarts, or Jason Voorhees. These thoughts pleased him, comforted him, until he began to hear Jason giving chase. He decided it was time to turn and fight. Reaching for his wand, he stopped, whipping around to face the enemy on his heels.

"Expecto Patro- -" Harry was silenced by the sight of his own hand being severed by a large machete. It flew off into the night, taking his wand with it.

"Well, there goes a family heirloom." Harry muttered, just as Jason decapitated him.

"And that's what happens when no one listens to the only girl in class." Hermione finished her presentation in Storytelling Through Crystal Balls. Before her, her peers clapped and applauded, except for Ron and Harry, who sat dumbfounded.

"Do you get the message, guys?" Hermione asked, sitting between them.

"I can't believe it…" Ron muttered. "I get to have sex with Hermione!"

"And I get to listen to an iPod, and use the internet, and update my FaceBook, just like a real boy!" Harry cheered, hugging his friend Ron.

"Play it again, Hermione, please?" Ron asked.

"Now, now, kids…" Professor Rutabaga cooed, gently waving her hands over Ron and Harry's heads. She was the new teacher of 'Lessons in Purely Useless Magic'. "Wouldn't you rather hear Ginny tell us a story about slugs and snails with her crystal ball?"

"Fuck no!" Harry shouted.

"Show me getting laid again!" Ron cheered.

THE END…?


End file.
